


Why I Chose You

by Witchergirl98



Series: Centaur au [1]
Category: The Witcher
Genre: Caring Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Caring Jaskier | Dandelion, Creature Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Creature Jaskier | Dandelion, Fluff, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia is Still a Witcher, M/M, Non-Human Genitalia, Non-Human Jaskier | Dandelion, Protective Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-14
Updated: 2020-06-14
Packaged: 2021-03-04 07:47:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24710095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Witchergirl98/pseuds/Witchergirl98
Summary: Jaskier needs to show Geralt he can be loved too.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: Centaur au [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1802752
Comments: 10
Kudos: 118





	Why I Chose You

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoy the story! 😊

A large sigh leaves Geralt’s lips as he trudged along the road. He wipes a few loose strands of hair back from his face adjusting the set of his armor over his chest. Finishing up his armor and moving onto adjusting the leather straps holding his swords against his side, attached to the leather holdings carrying his pack of supplies and potions. The sun bearing down on his silver dappled coat, the large frame of his lower half rippling with compact muscles from years of training. He had scars littering along his withers and even as far back as the thick meat of his hind legs.

He still wonders some days how a centaur like him was allowed to become a witcher, the irony not falling past him of a monster slaying monsters. He hardly remembers the day he was taken to be made into a witcher, but he still remembers the looks he got from both younger and older witchers. Pure curiosity and confusion seeing a centaur being brought to the hold to be Given the trials and trained. He shakes his head shoving the old memories away his hooves plodding along the dirt road. He glances back at the-dare he say it-pleasant nuisance prancing alongside him playing a soft melody on his lute. 

What confused Geralt-more so than anything-was the bard who decided to follow him. Jaskier had not been afraid of him when he walked into the tavern cold, covered in blood and a witcher at that. Said bard himself wasn’t human and almost nearly had Geralt drawing his silver sword. That was until Jaskier assured he wasn’t here to hurt anyone and was even welcomed, albeit with some deep seeded wariness. He didn’t blame the bard since he himself receives the same treatment. That was only a full year back when he had been hunting down a griffin near the town.

Jaskier was in a way like him, a centaur but of a different breed. Jaskier had a small set of antlers poking out from his chocolate-brown hair. The antlers were only about as long as a dagger. is lower half was that of a deer, sporting a few white spots along his hind legs. His coat was a warm deep brown with a few lightly shaded spots along his legs and stomach.

Jaskier followed Geralt playing a tune on his lute, but his mind was elsewhere reminiscing the past year of his time with the large brooding centaur. He had written and played many a song in the Witcher’s name; hoping against hope that it would help make people less afraid. It seems to have worked over the year getting them slightly better accommodations and food, better then being forced to sleep in the stables like an actual horse. That had gotten the ire of the Witcher and it took all Jaskier had to stop him from maiming the barkeep. With that behind them he is glad to be able to get an actual room and food, even Geralt had given him a compliment about it-as much of a compliment as the taciturn centaur would give.

The more Jaskier traveled with Geralt the more he learned about the Witcher and the more he started to fall for him. He just couldn’t deny the centaur had a charm to him-aside from his less than stellar talking in grunt or few word answers. Nonetheless, he fell for him always noticing how the larger centaur would avoid stepping on him if he got particularly too close, to even slowing down when he got tired from his prancing. To Jaskier the centaur was a lot more then what rumors say witchers are. He could see how Geralt wasn’t like the how the stories are told; likely used to have kids behave-his kindness, what small bit he’ll show disproved them.

“Geralt where are we going? We’ve been walking for nearly two hours now,” ever since they left the last town they had been on the road since only stopping for himself to catch his breath a few times. Grunting out a response Geralt peers at him from the corner of his eye, “a spot to camp near the river where the drowners were said to have a nest,” he continues to plod along the road listening for the sound of the river. Jaskier follows him along idly strumming his lute to pass the time. After having traveled for a few more miles down the road does geralt slow down and head off the into the trees. The sound of the river resounding easily to geralt’s ears giving him the direction he needs to go. 

Moving over roots of trees and stray stones they make it to the river in an open clearing. The spot littered with a few large rocks, little white poppies, a few bushes of lavender about and soft grass underneath their hooves. A little travel weary Jaskier sets his lute down against one of the large rocks scattered about and lays himself down letting out a content sigh. Geralt sets about gathering wood and branches for the fire, snapping his fingers magic bursting from his fingers to light said fire. Setting his potions down, Geralt goes through them to make sure he has what he needs.

“Your going to stay here while I kill the drowners. Do you understand Jaskier?,” looking into the sky-blue eyes he makes sure his own have a seriousness in them. “Yes, yes I understand. No going near the scary monsters while you do your witchery business,” a little exasperated at the overprotectiveness, Jaskier just shakes his head a smile on his lips. Geralt breathes out a sharp breath his lips twitching at the corner from the bard’s quip. Gathering up the potions he needs and pulling out his silver sword, Geralt heads down the river towards the location of the drowners. He focuses on his surroundings listening for the drowners-the area covered in their scent making it difficult to find them through smell. Taking one of his potions and downing it he heads on to find them, his eyes going black and his skin becoming a palor-white along with his veins taking on a darker black color and showing under his skin. 

Jaskier lays his back against the rock letting words flit through his head to form a song of this hunt-possibly about facing a fair number of them and fighting valiantly. He idly wonders what’s taking Geralt so long to hunt down these drowners, having heard about them from the Witcher himself. “Honestly he could have given me some possible time he’d be back. Is it too much to-,” he jolts at the sudden sound of a branch breaking nearby looking around for the source of the noise. “Geralt? If that’s you this isn’t funny,” looking in the direction of a second branch snapping he jumps up his heart pounding in his chest as he sees-he assumes its what Geralt is hunting-a drowner stalking towards him. The creature itself was ugly with its distended stomach and blueish-purple skin, the fish-like human appearance with it’s claws looking sharp enough to tear into flesh.

The drowner crept closer to him as he took a step back and then another, jumping out of the way of a clawed hand swiping at him a yelp leaving his lips. Where was Geralt? Why is this drowner after him? What was he going to do? The thoughts ran rampant in Jaskier’s mind as he looked around for something to help him with the creature. He stumbles back a strangled yell leaving his mouth slipping and falling on the ground as the drowner swiped at him again, his body freezing and locking up at how close it is to him now. Jaskier closed his eyes waiting for the feeling of pain from those claws to tear into him, but it never came as he heard the sound of hooves running towards him, the sound of bone breaking then nothing.

Geralt curses aloud as he gallops towards the camp where one of the drowners snuck off to. He desperately hopes Jaskier isn’t dead and that he can make it in time. His grip on his silver sword tightens images flashing in his mind of jaskier being dragged under the waters of the river, of being clawed open by the claws of the drowner. His lips curl baring his teeth as he pushes himself to get to the camp faster, to make it in time. Hearing the scream he all but bursts into the camp heading straight up to the drowner rearing up and slamming one of his hooves against its face, relishing in the sound of its skull crushing under his hoof. 

Stabbing it clean through to make sure it was dead. Geralt sheaths his silver sword not looking at Jaskier the potions still running through his system, making him look even more like a monster than he usually does. Jaskier opens his eyes to the sight of Geralt standing between him and the-now dead-drowner. Standing up shakily he walks over towards the Witcher, “geralt? Are you-,” he stops when he sees the larger centaur flinch at his words. “Don’t look at me,” his words sounded harsh but under the harshness there sounded a trace of fear? He didn’t know exactly but he continued up to Geralt taking hold of his armor and tugging on it. “Geralt look at me,” he kept his words gentle waiting for the larger centaur to make the move. 

Geralt let out a barely heard snort slowly turning to face the bard his head down to look at the ground-hoping he could avoid looking at the others eyes. Jaskier was having none of that though and cupped his hands on either side of his face, nudging him to look at him. Looking into Geralt’s eyes, while still under the potions effects, was like looking into an inky black abyss. “You look beautiful even when your like this,” he held the eye contact, pushing as much sincerity and love into his look as he could. Hesitantly as if afraid this was all a dream Geralt places his hands on Jaskier’s face.

Leaning down he tilts the others head up gently kissing him. Jaskier melts into the kiss as their mouths slot together for a chaste kiss. Pulling apart only to come back for another kiss repeating the motions, their lips smacking with each kiss. “Geralt,” the name slipping from Jaskier in a whisper against the Witcher’s mouth breaking whatever wall was stopping them from going further. Mouths kissed greedily at each other with clashing teeth and swirling tongues in a desperate reassurance that they were fine, that Jaskier was fine and still alive. Jaskier stands up on his hind legs bringing his front legs up to rest against Geralt’s withers, his legs small in comparison to the larger frame of the Witcher. He wraps his arms around the thick neck, taking the silver strands of hair between his fingers.

Geralt groans into the kiss feeling the nimble lute-calloused hands carding through his hair along with the sweet scent of Jaskier filling his nose. He breathes it in smelling the honey and lust mixing in the scent spiking his own arousal. Pulling away from the kiss he lays his forehead against Jaskier’s catching his breath from the heady kiss, “jaskier....” He looked into the eyes that looked up at him with a mix of love and lust, pupils blown wide leaving only a ring of the blue of the bard’s eyes. Jaskier looked into the now familiar golden-amber eyes of the Witcher the potions having finished running its course, keeping his hands in the silver mane feeling the soft strands slipping through his fingers with each pet.

Slowly as if in a trance they both glide their hands along each other. Jaskier working the leather straps of the armor off with ease, having spent the year helping and observing Geralt with his things. A soft gasp leaves his lips at seeing Geralt-not that he hadn’t seen him naked before-but to see him vulnerable and open for Jaskier all the same, “Melitele’s tits Geralt. I could just make a song alone about how gorgeous you look.” He feels rather than hears the low chuckle that leaves Geralt rumbling from his chest against his own, “I would rather you didn’t Jaskier.” Moving swiftly and with precision Geralt removes the bard’s doublet taking care not to tear it, lest he wants to upset him.

Taking in the sight before him Geralt drags his hands down along the lithe chest carding his fingers through the hair drawing a gasp from Jaskier. “Are you sure you want me Jaskier. A witcher, a monster made into a monster killer,” he looked away from the others eyes not fully turning his head, thoughts of how others might treat Jaskier for making this decision running through his mind. Feeling hands pull at his hair he looks at Jaskier seeing the stern yet loving look in his eyes, “you are no monster. Geralt, you are far from being a monster,” the sky-blue eyes searching his face for what he doesn’t know, “and like you have said many times you won’t kill another monster if you don’t have to.” Geralt feels his heart beat a bit faster than it normally does at the words from his bard-he liked the sound of that, his bard. Gently setting Jaskier down he moves behind him his aching need swinging beneath him, having long since remained and only got harder at the reassuring words of the bard.

Jaskier shivered in anticipation his own arousal leaking onto the ground beneath him. His tail wiggled in his excitement drawing a chuckle from the centaur behind him. Geralt moves grabbing a vial of oil from his bag taking the stopper off and pouring it onto his fingers coating them liberally. Setting the vial aside he places his other hand on Jaskier’s flank rubbing soothing circles with his thumb, feeling the muscle twitch at the contact as he lowered his other hand to press two slick fingers into the tight heat. Jaskier locks his legs to keep himself from wobbling as he feels the two slicked digits press deep into him scissoring and stretching him open. When they graze against the bundle of nerves he nearly sobs as the pleasure tingles through him not nearly enough. 

“Patience Jaskier you won’t fit me otherwise,” he pulls his fingers back nearly popping them out only to thrust them back in deep, a third finger following pressing right into the bundle of nerves. Jaskier’s legs quivered as he throws his head back, a wail of Geralt’s name leaving his lips the pleasure nearly whiting out his vision. He barely hears the soft shushes of the Witcher, his body shaking with pleasure, as each thrust of those strong sword-calloused fingers hit home. “Geralt! Please! I’m ready! Please for the love of melitele fuck me!,” his pleas fell on deaf ears as Geralt continued to open him up. “Shush little stag just one more,” he murmured against the shivering flanks infront of him placing apologetic kisses, finally thrusting in a fourth finger spreading them wide reveling in the gasping moan from the bard.

Finally deeming him stretched Geralt pulls his fingers out moving his larger frame over Jaskier’s much smaller one. Jaskier shivers at feeling the all-encompassing heat from the larger centaur’s body surrounding him. Feeling the strong and sturdy chest press against his back, one arm wrapping around his chest while a hand tilts his head to the side seeing the golden-amber eyes staring into his. “Are you really sure about this Jaskier?,” Geralt can’t help feeling a sting in his chest at his own words and how fearful they sound, but he doesn’t want the bard to be subjected to the same treatment he gets-made worse on him since he is also a witcher. 

Jaskier looks into the eyes of the Witcher seeing the fear in them; fear for his safety as if Geralt’s own safety didn’t matter to himself. Moving his hand back and over his shoulder he cups the back of Geralt’s head, not moving it or putting pressure, just a calming touch to ground him. “I’m as sure as I can play my own lute and dance. I’m very good at both,” he lets a smile grow as he sees the quirk in the Witcher’s own lips and the huff of a chuckle rumbling from the barrel chest against his back. He moves to lean up and press his lips to the side of Geralt’s mouth in a short chaste kiss, “your not a monster and I can handle myself against the monsters that live in taverns and drink too much ale.”

Geralt lets out another huff holding Jaskier close to him as he positions himself and presses the head of his cock against the awaiting hole. Both let out a groan as Geralt pushes past the first ring of muscles sliding in with ease with the oil he used earlier making it so. He stills when he can’t move anymore, no more than half of his cock inside Jaskier, panting and letting the other adjust to him. Jaskier leans his head back against the broad shoulder behind him flushing down to his chest. Never has he felt so full until now with every nerve alight from how big Geralt is. Lifting his other hand Jaskier grabs the back of Geralt’s head-mewling at the tender bites and kisses placed along his exposed neck.

Geralt pulls back till he only the head of his cock is in the tight velvety heat before thrusting forward hitting the bundle of nerves head on, drawing out a moan from his bard. He thrusts languidly keeping the pace slow and loving. He grazes his teeth up the exposed neck licking and biting the patch of skin just behind Jaskier’s ear eliciting a breathy moan in response. “Geralt!,” stomping his hooves on the ground and leaning further into the larger centaur, Jaskier squirms pleasure tingling all throughout his nerves building slowly but still not enough. He just wanted Geralt to move, to go faster, to do something more instead of the torturously slow pace he seems adamant to stay at.

Each slow thrust was sweet and torturous, the walls of the tight heat clenching around Geralt with each thrust, each hit to the nerves having the smaller centaur seeing stars each time. Every pant and groan leaving him taking Jaskier’s name with it. Each bite and kiss leaving marks on the bard’s neck claiming him. He presses his nose right into the juncture of the smooth pale neck and breathes in deep, taking in the scent of honey and oils mixing with the scent of lust and something purely Jaskier. “Are you smelling me geralt?,” Jaskier managed to moan out what with his mind still foggy in a desperate haze of pleasure. “You smell fucking good. Like honey and your oils but also like the forest in the spring.” Jaskier all but keened at the near poetic words that left his Witcher’s lips.

Sweat dripped down their bodies, Jaskier nothing but a sobbing mess with how slow Geralt kept his pace. It was torturous and pleasant all in one. The pleasure just kept rolling through him as his prostate was oversensitive from the constant abuse to it. He writhed against Geralt’s chest tugging and pulling on the silver locks gripped in both his hands and tears slipping from his eyes, “geralt! Please! Please I can’t-!...Geralt please move!” He tried to buck back against him but he was held firm against the larger centaur, shushing words whispered in his ear. “Breathe little stag it’s alright. Your doing so good for me my little stag so good,” each praise whispered in his ear had him arching further into Geralt broken sobs and moans leaving him. His cock was dripping with need onto the ground below him, aching horribly for release.

Geralt runs his hands all along Jaskier’s sides soothing him, his thrusts remaining slow but going deep, rough but never picking up speed. The look of pure pleasure and need for release all but taking over his bard’s features, his scent driving Geralt himself insane with torture. He runs his hands along the chest dragging his nails down through the hair and over the sensitive buds, the body against him-amazingly and possibly magically-arching even more against him pushing closer. It sent a flutter through the normally slow beat of his heart. “Your doing so good little stag. Taking me so well. Singing so beautifully for me,” he could practically smell the heat coiling through Jaskier at the praise, his own stomach roiling with heat as the moans grow louder ringing out in the air.

How long had they been at this? Jaskier dazedly asked himself, it felt like It could’ve been hours. Drool was spilling down his chin, his flush dark and covering his face down to his chest. Had he known Geralt was like this with making love he’d have initiated it sooner. As it is he will take the pleasure he is feeling now, the heat of being surrounded by Geralt his hands tracing patterns into his sides leaving heat along their trails. The slow but deep thrusts all but ruining his thoughts and words leaving him to just moan and wail, he could feel his end inching closer just needing more, more from his witcher.

“Geralt!...I’m...I want...ah please Geralt! I can’t take it, please I need you to fuck me! Claim me as yours and yours alone! Fill me up! Please!” Heat spiked straight through Geralt, losing all control he had left, as he pulled back almost slipping out before thrusting back in, snapping his hips faster, drawing a stuttered wail of his name out of Jaskier. Jaskier practically jumped out of his skin as the pace finally, finally began to pick up his already oversensitive nerves flaring and drawing his release near in just one thrust, “I’m close geralt! Please! I need...ah!” He tugged and pulled hard on the silver locks screams falling from him, not caring if he sounded like someone was getting attacked by a viscous beast-which assuredly he was but not in the killing sense.

Geralt purred at the pleasure spiking through him after each pull of his hair, each thrust into the clenching heat, every scream leaving his little stag’s mouth. His own release falling upon him just as fast, thrusting faster he leaned closer to Jaskier licking along the shell of his ear nipping at the lobe, “come for me little stag.” Those huskily whispered words were his undoing, painting the ground below him with long white stripes of his seed Geralt’s name screamed into the air. Geralt’s hips stuttered as he thrust once, twice, three times before hilting himself as deep as he could his cock throbbing as he spills into Jaskier, biting down on a bruised and marked shoulder riding out his release.

Carefully he pulls his softening cock out and moves to stand beside Jaskier. Jaskier all but collapses into Geralt’s side panting and flushed, his neck and shoulders littered in bites and bruises. Looking up at Geralt with lidded eyes and a dopey smile, Jaskier sees the Witcher having a larger than normal smile on his lips and a soft gaze directed at him. No one else, no whore, no witch only him. He couldn’t be happier-well he could but that’s beside the point. He couldn’t be happier than he is right now with Geralt at his side.

“Of all people why choose me? A monster witcher to be the one you love?,” he couldn’t help but still feel the nerves and fear for his little stag and the possible mocking words that could follow from every town. “Geralt,” taking the Witcher’s head in his hands Jaskier makes him look in his eyes, “you are not a monster. You are more than you claim yourself to be. I chose to love you because you are kind and caring even if you don’t admit it.” He keeps the larger centaur’s face still looking into the golden-amber orbs, “you show more humanity than even a human does. Witcher potions or no you protect me and others and do so without thought of yourself,” each word made a lump form in Geralt’s throat his eyes wide staring into the sky-blues of Jaskier’s eyes.

“I chose you Geralt because I fell for you each day that we were together. That is why I chose you,” he holds firm on Geralt, seeing for the first time tears slipping from the Witcher’s-his Witcher he amends-eyes. Geralt felt his vision blur from the tears he didn’t think he could shed, moving in close he kisses Jaskier’s swollen red lips cupping his face. Jaskier swipes his thumbs along his cheeks wiping away the tears, putting as much love into the kiss as he could. Geralt deserved love the same as everyone else does, why anyone thinks otherwise is a fool, a damn fool for missing such a kind and caring soul to love. “Thank you,” the words were barely heard with how soft they were whispered against his lips, pressing his forehead against Geralt’s rubbing his thumbs along his cheeks, “you don’t need to thank me Geralt. You deserve a chance at love,” and damnit if that didn’t make Geralt want to shed more tears. How could his bard just speak so much about giving love to him? How could he just shower him in love?

Having spent a few minutes basking in each other’s presence and calming down from the high for a few minutes, they set about cleaning themselves up and dressing, Jaskier putting his doublet back on and Geralt opting for his black tunic. Jaskier settled down near the fire as the first stars of night appeared. Geralt going off to hunt for food, after many assurances on Jaskier’s part that he’d be fine on his own, that all the drowners were dead and wouldn’t be any more around to take a chunk out of him. After a few minutes of hunting, a rabbit was now roasting over the fire. Geralt finally relaxes laying down beside Jaskier pressing against his side. Both completely spent of energy from the days events and passions.

Nuzzling his nose against Jaskier’s temple Geralt takes in his scent, “will you stay with me?” Of course he would, why would he think any different about that? It’s Geralt he chose and would choose again and again in any life he could have had, “there’s no way you’d ever be able to get me to leave. Your sadly stuck with me.” The answering smile eases his need to comfort the Witcher, all soft and showing a bit of teeth, more than any other smile the man would ever show-and only show to him.

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave only helpful tips and no hate comments


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